


From Cabins To Catwalks

by mansikka



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alex Manes Deserves Nice Things, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Fluff, M/M, Michael Guerin Deserves Nice Things, Modeling, POV Michael Guerin, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:44:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22680049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: Michael loves his life in Roswell. He loves his job, his cabin, his brother, and his dog, and even his manipulative-with-the-best-intentions sister. And he loves that tomorrow, he will be setting off in his Airstream for a summer on the road, with no particular destination in mind. He just needs to get through the next few hours first. Which is easier said than done. And as a familiar face from his past appears in the mirror over his shoulder, all Michael can ask himself is, how the hell did I get talked into this?
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 37
Kudos: 109





	1. Chapter 1

There is one stubborn curl almost in the middle of his forehead that is refusing to sit right, no matter how many times he pulls on the end of it trying to ping it into place. Michael lets it go in defeat catching the horror in his expression in the mirror. How the hell did he let himself be talked into _this_?

He should have left in the Airstream the moment school was out. He should have run as far and fast as he could the _moment_ Isobel had turned _that_ look on him, one week before the end of term. He knows it always means trouble, and that with Isobel's particular brand of puppy eyes there is no way he could escape. What Michael wants to know, as he stares at himself running a hand over his shirt wondering if he should do some last-minute sit-ups, or crunches, or _something_, is how _Max_ got off the hook?

A click of paws on the hardwood floor behind him softens some of the fear in Michael's eyes. He turns already smiling for the nudge of a head against his calf, reaching down to scritch his beagle Buffy between the ears. Her tail thumps as she wraps herself around his leg, looking up at Michael like she is asking him a question.

"Girl, I don't know either. I've got _no_ idea how long this thing is gonna take. But I'll leave you extra food, and water, okay? The bed's all yours. I'll even leave the TV on, alright, girl?"

Buffy wags her tail, panting in what Michael decides is approval.

"Well. Guess I'd best get to it," Michael says watching Buffy trot out the room, following her to over-fill her bowls and put extra pillows and throws over the couch. He is thankful for the dog flap he installed at the back of the cabin out of sight, so Buffy can let herself out when she needs to relieve herself when he is at work. Usually he tries to come back every few hours, or, more often than not, take Buffy with him to the school. Today might be the longest she's been on her own since he picked her up from the shelter. Michael is inclined to take her with him _now_, though can already picture the scowl on Isobel's face if he does.

Michael catches his reflection one more time as he walks back through to the bedroom for his phone. Black t-shirt, faded blue jeans, his favorite boots; what would be the point in dressing up when everything will just come off again? Michael sighs one more time, turning sideways wondering if he'll have to suck in his gut, then makes his mournful way from the cabin, climbing into the truck and already wishing he was back home.

* * *

The Convention and Civic Center parking lot is already teeming with vehicles when Michael arrives, one section roped off for press making him swallow in distaste at the thought of being photographed. He parks his truck, eyeing the reporters milling around outside their van with deep disdain, pointedly looking in the opposite direction when he climbs out.

Since he is a volunteer—a loose term of a word since Isobel hadn't given him any choice—Michael only needs to flash some I.D. to be let into a side entrance he didn't even know the Center had. He takes a look at all the beautiful people already in a start of dressed, undressed, and in makeup, and decides to sneak right back out again before Isobel even sees him.

"You're here!"

_Dammit_.

Micheal pastes on his best smile not wanting to hear accusations of him being nervous, hugging Isobel half-heartedly when she throws her arms around his neck. "Yeah. I'm here."

"Do you know how many people I've had to beat off for you this past hour?" she asks, looping her arm through Michael's and turning him to walk.

"What for?"

Isobel only flicks her hand in dismissal, her lips pressed into a thin, mischievous line. "You're through here—"

"Iz. What _for_?"

Isobel doesn't say anything; not in answer to his question, anyway, only continuing to tow him through makeshift dressing rooms that have taken over spaces in the Convention Center normally used for offices, and even a dining hall. There is excited chatter everywhere and the smell of hairspray and all kinds of cosmetics. Clothes more expensive than Michael would even look at are on racks everywhere he looks, and people, truly beautiful people, at every turn.

By the time Isobel is bringing Michael to a stop beside a clothes rack, having him shake hands with a stylist named Megan, and calling out an answer to someone from across the room, Michael is even more certain that he should leave, now, before anything can happen. This isn't a place for him. He couldn't be more out of his depth. Why would Isobel even ask him to do something like this? His sister is renowned for having great taste and a good eye; isn't this just going to damage her reputation?

"I can't believe I'm getting to style him," Megan gushes when she has Isobel's attention, so excited she looks like she might vibrate right out of the green four-inch stilettos she's wearing.

Me? Michael thinks, knowing it can't be. She can't mean _him_. He doesn't know this Megan, and for further confirmation that he's already been forgotten, he sneaks a look at her face. Megan isn't looking at him at _all_. Though the true tell is his sister; Isobel looks way more excited than would be necessary for someone styling her brother.

"I can't believe he agreed to do this," Isobel says with what Michael thinks is a wistful sigh. Very out of character, and setting Michael's teeth on end.

"He is such a good guy," Megan agrees with a sigh of her own.

"I suppose if we must be cynical, this is phenomenal publicity. '_International supermodel graces the catwalk of home town charity event_'. That's surely going to earn him even more followers, right? Even more than the millions he already has?"

Michael's ears begin to ring as the pieces of the puzzle he's not seeing start to come together.

"No," Megan says, offended on behalf of this _supermodel_, drawing herself up to full height; which next to Isobel really isn't much at all. "He's just a really good guy. A _really_ good guy. You've seen him whenever he shows up at hospitals unannounced on kids' wards. And when he did those sleep out nights with the homeless. _And_ when he sent that Thanksgiving care package to his old unit. He just wants to give something back."

"To the town that basically turned a blind eye to his father being a piece of work?" Isobel says with a shrewd look even if she is still smiling; Michael can almost feel her disbelief.

"Well. In any case, he's here. And I get to style him. I think I'm so excited I might be sick," Megan adds, literally bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"Please do that elsewhere. Michael has a sensitive stomach," Isobel teases, patting him on said stomach as she remembers he is in the room. "Now. Michael. Please behave."

"I—"

"I don't think I have to tell you that all eyes will be on you, considering who you're walking the catwalk with."

Please no, Michael thinks, remembering long limbs, soulful eyes, and the most beautiful smile he has ever seen, please, _please_ no.

"Can you believe Alex Manes offered to come here for this? It's incredible," Isobel says with an absent pat at his arm before walking away, already talking to someone else. Memories descend on Michael, dragging him to a backroom in the alien museum, warm hands clutching him close for the best kiss of his life.

Oh _shit_.

* * *

Michael first noticed Alex Manes when they were about fifteen. Alex was already in math class when Michael arrived thinking he'd be the first in, giving him a sleepy nod of acknowledgment before turning back to the book he was scribbling in the margins of. He'd probably seen him around the school before, of course, but in that room with only the two of them together, Michael took the time to _notice_ him. Alex was beautiful; eyeliner, piercings, defiance spilling from every pore of him. Michael was fascinated but only kept an eye from a distance, harboring a secret, slow-growing crush for about two years.

The afternoon he had kissed Alex for one of only two times, Michael could probably count the number of words they'd said to one another on his hands. Michael had wanted to, obviously; he'd spent most of those two years imagining little else. But the kid who slept in an old Airstream given him by Sanders—the guy who owned the scrapyard Michael worked in when not at school—wasn't really the kind of guy the beautiful and popular Alex Manes would have any time for. Not that Alex was cruel, or anything; Michael just wasn't on his periphery.

There had been some event at the Crashdown; Liz's birthday, or Rosa's—Michael forgets now. He'd only been in to pick up some lunch for him and Sanders when he'd been pushed into a booth opposite Alex, and found himself sharing fries and a shake. Even now, a little over ten years later, Michael can recall their conversation word for word. He doesn't remember how late he was getting lunch back to the scrapyard, or how many cars he worked on after they talked on the way to the alien emporium. But he does remember the feel of Alex's lips on his own, and the sweetness of his smile.

Michael also remembers the sadness that had seeped into his expression, for Alex admitting his father had enlisted him and he was leaving to train for the Air Force. They hadn't said much else, just kissed, and kissed, first in the museum and then in the back of MIchael's truck later that day until the sun went down. He shouldn't be able to still feel Alex after all this time, but Michael is adamant that he can.

Especially as, after Megan has talked a hundred miles a minute at him about his outfit for this charity catwalk, and fixed that stubborn curl that wouldn't behave itself at home, the man in question makes an appearance. Michael can't see him yet, but for Megan's raspy intake of breath and how the entire building around him seems to fall silent, Michael knows there can only be one person coming to stand behind him.

A whisper reaches Michael's ear first as gossipy chatter strikes up. Michael even thinks he hears the flashing of cameras as though the press is already here snapping candid moments. Michael tries to focus his attention purely on that curl now sitting as it should, his stomach rippling when a familiar face comes into view in the reflection of his mirror.

"Hi, Michael," Alex says, soft, and sweet, and also regretful. Or is it hopeful? Michael can't really tell.

Megan gasps; Michael is sure he hears her muffled voice asking how they know each other already. But Michael knows little else, as he spins in his chair to face him, and a decade passes before his eyes.

"Alex."

* * *

"How are you?" Alex asks when Megan has squeaked about leaving them alone for a moment to catch up. There are none of the cautious glances Michael thinks he remembers from back in high school when Alex had pretended not to care what people thought. Michael studied him so closely back then that he thought he could read his every expression. He's even thought he could tell what he was thinking from a distance, whenever he's seen Alex on TV or on the front of a magazine. So this _how are you_ he thinks is accompanied with so many other questions, as well as hesitance because it's been ten years; what would they have to say to one another?

Michael has the urge to tell him everything, but doesn't. His life is so small in comparison to Alex's; why would he be interested?

"Good," Michael says, running his hands over his jeans as he stands up so they're at eye level. "Real good."

"No offense, but this is the last place I would have thought you'd be," Alex says with an absent glance over the clothes rack to their side, the dressing table Michael just stood up from, then back to his face.

"Yeah. Well. I could say the same for you, Alex. Me, I got dragged here by Isobel. What's your excuse?"

"Would you believe me if I said I was feeling nostalgic for home?" Alex asks, with a smile that goes right to Michael's stomach.

"Roswell?" Michael says, sounding just as incredulous as he feels. Why does his voice have to come out so loud? And _squeaky_?

Alex's smile is rueful, the shrug of his shoulders supposed to be meaningless. Michael knows there is more to this visit, even if he hasn't figured out what yet. "So. What do you do here in Roswell now, when you're not being, I assume, volunteered by your sister, for a charity catwalk?"

Michael squares his shoulders, proud of what he's done with his life. Even if he isn't some multimillion supermodel. "Would you believe me if I said I was a school counselor?"

Alex's face breaks into a beautiful, proud, and so very soft smile. "I would. Our school?"

They didn't know each other. There is no reason for Alex to look proud. But he does, and Michael can't help preen for it.

"Yeah. Our school."

"That's amazing, Michael. Really."

"Thanks." Michael is touched, and relieved, and also proud to be receiving Alex's approval. Even when he tells himself not to be so stupid.

"I guess maybe it makes more sense for you to be doing this thing?" Alex adds, nodding behind them.

This _thing_, the charity event that has brought an international supermodel back to grace its put-together catwalk, is to raise money for three group homes in the area, along with funding for some of the fostering projects around Roswell. It is a subject close to Michael's heart for him, Max, and Isobel spending time in such places, though especially him for being in the system for far longer. He knows what those group homes can be like, how hopeless everything can be when it feels like there is no one to care. Michael will take his discomfort and outright embarrassment at being up on that catwalk if it raises some money to help these kids.

"I guess," Michael says, nodding at Alex with the smallest of frowns. He can't figure Alex's presence here out at all. "But what about you? Why are you really here? Last I heard, you were in Paris."

Michael might have followed Alex's career from afar. From the moment he'd left Roswell for his _war_, through to the terrifying news that Alex had been in an accident that almost cost him his life, Michael has quietly tried to check up on Alex whenever he could. His burgeoning career as a model after photos of him in the hospital caught the attention of an agent, Michael has watched flourish at every stage. Alex has known additional pressure for being one of the few successful amputees to represent various famous fashion houses; something he has been outspoken about from the very beginning. Alex has brought _change_ to the fashion world. Michael has cheered him on—privately—for every success. He could probably recite Alex's schedule better than he could himself. If this were anyone else, Michael might say they were obsessed. He isn't, though, he's just _interested_. And _curious_. _Really_.

"It's been a busy few months," Alex says with a small smile that speaks volumes. Alex is tired, is probably in need of a break. Roswell and a charity fashion show might not be Michael's idea of a rest, though for Alex so used to constant limelight and attention, perhaps this seems like a day off.

"You ever take a break, Alex?"

Michael knows that he does. There are recent pictures of Alex in only the most beautiful of company in the Seychelles, looking effortlessly glorious in a pool by the beach. Michael has never really understood why people opt to go to pools when the beach is right on their doorstep, but then he's never lived a life like Alex's.

"A little. I took a few days for my Dad's funeral."

Jesse Manes died last year, caught up in a scandal that of course was splashed across all the scandal sheets for him being Alex's father. All the Manes family history came out; an absent mother, a tyrant of a father, older brothers who had little to do with Alex until he knew fame. Michael wonders then how Alex can even stand to be back in Roswell. Surely there are people around here who sold their stories of Alex growing up, airing his dirty laundry without his consent?

"Wait," Michael says then, clearing his throat as he goes over Alex's words. "Are you telling me you haven't had a day off since... September, last year?"

"I've had mornings. And afternoons. Just not both together," Alex says with a smile that steals the strength from the back of Michael's knees. "I thought I would take a couple of days here to recharge. Away from everything."

Michael can picture him in the swankiest of hotels Roswell has to offer, knowing even those will seem dreary compared with what Alex is more accustomed to. Michael knows he has a sprawling condo complex out in L.A., though doesn't imagine Alex gets a lot of time there. He then thinks of his own cabin, sold to him for far too little by Jim Valenti, and lovingly built on to create the beautiful home it is today. To Alex's eyes, it would probably look like some abandoned shack in the desert, but Michael couldn't be prouder of it.

Though as Michael thinks these things, recalling every interview he's ever read given by Alex and the way it makes his day seeing his occasional posts on Instagram and Twitter, Michael knows discomfort and embarrassment. What would Alex think about him following his career as closely as he does, when Alex doesn't know a thing about _him_? Would Alex think he is some kind of stalker?

"What about you?" Alex says then, licking his lips, which almost gives Michael eye strain for trying not to follow the movement. "When was the last time you took a vacation?"

"I'll have you know, Buffy and I are setting off in my Airstream for the summer just as soon as we're done here. Bags are packed and everything."

"Buffy?"

"My dog," Michael says, pulling his phone unable to resist sharing a picture of his best girl.

"Oh." The soft way Alex's voice catches as he looks at the picture puts fresh flutters in Michael's heart. Alex's arm is warm pressed against his own as he leans in for a better look; Michael fights the urge to lean back against him or do something worse, like see if his kisses still taste the same. When Alex looks at him them they are far too close; it is impossible for Alex not to hear Michael's sharp intake of breath. They are saved by Megan clattering back in talking about fittings and adjustments, and something to do with a special kind of hairspray for curls. Alex looks unfazed, though Michael is reminded he had plenty of reasons to be panicking already today, and that's before his lifelong crush turned up unannounced.

"I guess we'd better get ready," Michael says, both of them turning as Megan continues to talk mostly to herself.

"Have you done this kind of thing before, Michael?" Alex asks, with a none-too-discreet glance over him that ends with a heat-filled look straight in the eye.

"Not even once. Honestly, Alex. I haven't a single clue what I'm supposed to even do." Between Alex being here, and the thought of so many sets of eyes watching him on a catwalk, Michael thinks he's either going to be sick or that his knees might crumple beneath him. What the _hell_ is he doing here?

Alex's smile is beautiful, his hand gentle as he squeezes Michael's arm. "Well," he says, letting his palm linger there longer than is probably necessary. "It's okay. Just follow my lead."

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

There are two outfits they will be modeling; each of the models has two apiece, so really it shouldn't be a big deal. All of the volunteer models are being accompanied on stage by professional ones, though none but Michael are having to tread a catwalk with a real-life _supermodel_ by their side. Michael is so tense for the thought of it—all of it—he's not sure he'll even make it out from behind the curtain.

It doesn't help with how good Alex looks; he is wearing a tight-fitting black suit with a silk cream shirt covered in a black diamond pattern that he makes look so good, Michael has trouble not drooling when he looks his way. It also doesn't help when, once Michael has _his_ blazer on, Alex looks him up and down like he's about to feast on a banquet. Maybe he's just really hungry; Michael doesn't like to think about what kind of diet a model really has, even if Alex looks lean, and muscular, and perfect.

"You look incredible," Alex says, meaning Michael has to stifle a snort of laughter. His suit is plum-colored with a crazily-patterned shirt; Michael can't tell what the patterns are supposed to be. And while the suit is far more luxurious and perfectly cut than anything he'd be comfortable wearing normally, it is nothing when compared with how good Alex looks.

"You too," Michael blurts out, and because he's lost his mind, probably, allows himself to look Alex over. Slowly. Twice.

"I always loved your curls," Alex adds, absently reaching out to toy with one, which does things to Michael, like freeze his brain. "I was always distracted in class for watching them move when you sat near the window. Watching _you_, really."

A murmuring comes from behind the curtain calling Michael's attention back from the shock of Alex's revelation; they are up next. Suddenly his feet won't move; he can't even make a run for it now. What is he supposed to do?

"You okay?" Alex asks, and to Michael's surprise cupping his face as he ducks his head to look him in the eye.

"Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"We should get out there."

From the murmur rising to a frenzy and the whole atmosphere of the Center seeming to tense, Michael knows the watching public is aware that Alex is back here. How can he walk out there with him? Michael's had exactly two minutes of instruction on how to pivot and turn on the catwalk, and all he can think about is tripping, or falling head first into the crowd. His kids will never let him live it down; not when it makes the local paper. They'll make some collage of it all over the school's walls, Michael is sure.

"Michael?" Alex asks again, his voice raising in concern.

"Uh. Yeah."

"Let's go," Alex says with a carefree smile, grabbing Michael's hand and leading him up the steps to the back of the catwalk. "We'll do this together."

Michael doesn't let go of his hand; not through the roar of the crowd when the curtains are drawn back, or the casual, confident way Alex saunters down the catwalk, still holding on to his hand. Michael is going to see his own face in the paper, and on social media, and everywhere he turns. Though for once he possibly won't hate it; not for Alex being right there by his side.

―

The second outfit is so much worse.

Michael thought he had recovered from the sight of Alex modeling beside him, pouting for the camera with a perfect turn on his heel. Michael looks Alex over now, in his long-sleeved gray t-shirt paired with skinny jet black jeans, and glasses of all things, and thinks he might genuinely pass out. There is no moisture in his throat as he tries to swallow, and when he goes to answer Megan's question about more hairspray, his breath comes out in a raspy rattle.

Though once again, Alex is looking him over like he is something to eat. Michael's own t-shirt is also long-sleeved, but white, and is paired with more forgiving jeans that are dark gray, like the black ink of them has been washed out. Is it the scuffed black boots, which are his own thank you very much, which have so got Alex's attention? Or is it in fact the black cowboy hat that Michael put on as a joke from what he'd thought was some kind of dress-up box in Megan's arsenal, that he's really taken a shine to?

"Are you ready to go again?" Alex asks, giving him a deliberate once-over that, were Michael in Alex's jeans, he would be worrying about cut off circulation right about now. How is he supposed to even sit down in them, if he needs to? Michael can see the outline of Alec's prosthetic through them, that is how tight they are, as well as... other things. Which he should _not_ be looking at, at all.

"I think so," he says, deliberately dragging his gaze to just beyond Alex's shoulder.

"Good," Alex says, wriggling his fingers so Michael knows to take his hand again. They haven't even been told to get into position behind the curtain yet, but Michael isn't about to complain.

"I guess this must all seem a little small to you, huh, Alex?" he says as they wait, because he needs to give his mouth something to do. Instead of the thing he _wants_ his mouth to be doing.

"What do you mean?"

"Well. You just did the show in Paris. And right before that was the one in Milan. You can't tell me Roswell has anywhere near the same kind of draw."

"Roswell has its perks," Alex says, still holding on to his hand as he eyes him in curiosity with the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. "Michael. Have you really been following my career?"

Well, what is he supposed to say to that? _Damn_ his mouth. "Uh. Maybe a little? With Isobel, you know. Because―"

Michael is saved from truly stumbling over his own tongue by another raucous round of applause announcing that Alex is due back on stage. This time Alex lets go of his hand as he walks, though then throws an arm around his shoulder when they pause at the end of the catwalk. When he kisses Michael on the cheek, Michael thinks he might be blinded by flashing cameras, but is far too dazed to say anything about it. Alex takes his hand again as they make their way back down; how is Michael supposed to let him go for the last time when they get to the other end?

* * *

Michael wasn't expecting an after party. Neither was he expecting there to be such a fuss; everyone crowding around him must surely be doing so because he'd been on stage with Alex. If he hears one more compliment about how natural he looked up on that stage, how his face is made for the camera, and how he should at least take part in the charity calendar they're thinking of doing next, Michael thinks the tips of his ears might fall off for how scorched they surely must be.

Alex, of course, is effortlessly working the crowd, kind words for those who were probably unkind to him in high school, taking unhurried selfies and giving autographs with anyone who asks. Michael is proud of him; far prouder than he has any right to be since they haven't seen each other in so long. There is an ache in his heart for realizing that in probably only an hour or so from now they will say their goodbyes, and Alex will probably never even think his name again. Still, at least for the next few minutes, Michael can enjoy being in his presence if not up close. He intends to savor it, before going back to checking up on how Alex is doing from afar, letting his wistful thoughts get the better of him for wishing something could happen to keep Alex in his life.

"You were amazing, Michael. really," Liz says gushing at him for what has to be the fifth time. Max is quietly stood by her side, but even he has a look of pride for him. Michael both wants to preen for it and pretend it isn't happening, though smiles all the same, oofing when Liz pokes him in the stomach saying the next fries and milkshake in the Crashdown are on her.

"I could eat fries and milkshake," Alex says as he joins him, laughing when Liz squeals and throws her arms around him squeezing him tight. Michael looks on in silence as the two friends catch up, ignoring Max's knowing smile when he catches him watching.

"You should come. To the Crashdown. Right now," Liz insists, squeezing Alex's arm as she does. "You're not in any hurry to go anywhere, are you?"

How is anyone supposed to resist the pleading on Liz's face? Honestly, she can be just as bad as Isobel at times.

"I could eat," Alex says with an easy shrug; Michael tells himself not to be so relieved he gets a little more time with him before he leaves.

"Great," Liz says, squeezing his arm again. "Do you remember the way?"

"I'll drive," Michael says without thinking, his breath catching for Alex's pleased smile.

"Thank you," he says, with such sincerity Michael takes several long seconds to realize they mean to leave right now. As a group they make their way over to Isobel, who rushes over to someone from the charity and makes her excuses for why she needs to leave. Minutes later, Isobel climbs in the car with Max and Liz, leaving Michael stood beside his truck with Alex.

"Are you okay?" Alex asks when Michael doesn't move.

Sure," Michael says, throwing himself into the driver's seat before he does something stupid. "Starving, though."

"I always want to eat the entire world after every show like this," Alex says as he climbs in. He's wearing a dark grey t-shirt and stonewash jeans; not exactly model attire. Yet Alex is still the most beautiful person Michael has ever seen. How is he supposed to eat anything in front of him? He'll probably choke, and then cough, and then make a fool of himself in some other way, which will be Alex's enduring image of him.

"Well. Then let's get you fed," is what Michael says instead of all the things he wants to be saying. Alex settles back in his seat as though he's been a passenger in this truck a hundred times over, watching the sights of Roswell in interest as they pass.

* * *

"Are you really leaving tomorrow?" Alex asks when they're full of milkshake, fries, and a new kind of burger Arturo insists they try in honor of the fashion show.

"Yeah," Michael says, snagging one of the last now-cold fries from their shared plate even though he's no longer hungry. "I can't wait."

"Where are you headed?"

"I don't know yet. There'll be coast at some point, and somewhere green, hopefully. I always make it up as I go. I've got a few weeks. Anything I need to prepare for when I get back to the school I can do on the road."

"It sounds amazing," Alex says, with what could be a wistful smile. Alex is probably boarding a plane back to some exotic location before tomorrow is out; a far more luxurious way of traveling than Michael's Airstream rattling along the highway. Though Michael wouldn't want some fancy airplane to travel in. The Airstream has been his home, sanctuary, and escape so many times over the years. She is as much his home as the cabin is, and Buffy loves riding along with him in her.

"Yeah. It is. Miles of road, no real destination, lots of free time."

"I'm jealous," Alex says with a pinched smile. Michael tries not to interpret it in any way.

"When are you back at work?"

Alex shrugs like he doesn't want to talk about it. Though Michael already knows; Alex has a couple of weeks doing back-to-back fashion shoots coming up next. No doubt he'll be beautiful on every page of every magazine Michael reads. Will any of them be published while he is still on the road? Michael hopes so. He doesn't get to ask anything else for the group coming together once more; this time for some monstrosity of a shared ice cream dessert.

"Tell me more about your trip," Alex says later, asking Michael questions about places he's been to on previous road trips, laughing when Michael shows him some of those pictures since he can't not take a picture of Buffy everywhere she goes. Buffy is a model too, in Michael's mind; always ready for the camera, always stood with the best expressions and poses. Buffy really is the best dog Michael could ever have asked for.

"Why'd you really come back here?" Michael asks, still not buying that _Alex Manes_ of all people would willingly come back to Roswell to help out at a charity fashion show; even if Michael is biased and thinks it's for the best possible cause.

Alex ducks his head, though not before Michael catches his smile. "I had my reasons."

"Which were?"

Alex's shoulders rise and fall before he looks up again, stealing Michael's breath when he looks at him. "Well, among other reasons, I saw something online in the Roswell Daily Record about Isobel hosting this event to raise money for the group homes here. Which I already donated to. _Do_ donate to; I had it set up years ago."

"Really?" Michael asks, so touched by the gesture that really, it's a wonder he hasn't kissed him already. Though he also wants to know why Alex would even bother following the news from back home.

"Yes."

"So. Isobel got you back here?" Michael asks, sure there is more to it; not that his sister isn't of course a draw on her own; Isobel is beautiful, and vibrant, and so many other amazing things.

Alex's face again screws up, the slightest blush dusting his cheeks. "I read her interview about it. She said it was one of her proudest achievements so far that she'd convinced her brother to take part in the show. I didn't imagine for one second that she meant Max..."

Oh...

It's clearly not the only reason he's back here; Michael knows there is no way on this earth that Alex's visit to Roswell is solely because of _him_. Though between Michael feeling stunned that Alex would even really think about him, and the look on Alex's face that is saying _please don't push_, Michael changes the subject, teasing him about the Crashdown menu being far superior to anything he eats in those fancy restaurants he must spend half his time in.

* * *

"Do you want a lift to your hotel?" Michael asks when they have all finished eating, spilling on the street from the Crashdown just after dusk; were they really all talking for that long?

Alex screws his face up, hands shoved deep into his jean pockets as he looks around. "I should book somewhere."

"You don't have a hotel?"

"This was sort of a last-minute decision," Alex tells him, his eyes firmly across the street away from him. "I didn't even pack anything much; only this overnight bag."

Michael looks at the bag strap across Alex's shoulder following it down to the small black bag at his hip; barely enough for a change of clothes. "Well. It's late, Alex. You need to―I don't know how many hotels there'll be around here with free rooms now. Not like the ones you're used to, anyway."

Alex's smile is bitter, a tiny huff of breath making his nostrils flare. "I think I've had enough of _my kind_ of hotels for an entire lifetime."

Michael's stomach is in knots, wanting to ask so much more. Is Alex not happy in his work anymore? Did something happen? "Really?"

Alex closes his eyes, letting his shoulders sag. "Let's just say. What you said earlier, about me not having a vacation in a while? That really hit home. Lately, that's really been hitting home. And my home, it... I can't even tell you what my bedroom looks like. I haven't been back there in so long, and when I do it's... it's not a home, Michael. It's _not_. It's just somewhere that I can't even really sleep. And I don't really―I really don't want to go back to work. Not yet. Not for a while. Not tonight, at least."

The offer is on Michael's tongue before he can really make any sense of it. "Well. It's nothing special, but you can crash at mine for the night if you want?" Michael then tells him about the cabin, watching his eyes light up in delight.

"Is Kyle Valenti still here?" Alex asks, his face twisting in amusement.

"Yeah. Works at the hospital."

"Did you know Kyle and I used to play hide-and-seek, and cops and robbers, and all kinds of things in that cabin when we were kids?"

Michael can picture it, his heart swelling for the thought of a tiny Alex running around.

"I didn't."

"It was a long, long time ago."

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess it was. And the cabin's probably changed some since. You probably wouldn't even recognize it."

Alex nods, squaring his shoulders. "I'd like to see it."

"The cabin?" Michael asks, ignoring the way his heart practically cheers.

"Yes."

Michael nods, tilting his chin towards his truck, calling goodbyes when Isobel hollers from the window of Max's car. "Well. Jump in."

―

"I think someone is ready to start her vacation," Alex says in the morning, as Buffy woofs from the steps of the Airstream like she's trying to hurry Michael up. Michael laughs, climbing up those steps with the last bag he intends to take with him, making sure he has her bed and favorite blanket; otherwise she'll do nothing but sulk if he forgets them.

"Yeah, I think so," Michael agrees, watching Alex's face as he looks around the Airstream in interest. His gaze falls on an old photo of Michael with Max and Isobel stuck to a wall, and then Michael's guitar strewn across the couch.

"You still play?"

"All the time."

"Good. I don't remember the last time I even picked a guitar up."

Michael nods, sure there have been many nights he's sat right here playing melodies that made him think of Alex. Michael can still clearly hear Alex's singing voice sometimes from when they were back in high school, singing along to the notes making up words. This crush is a little _much_ if he's honest, but he has this connection to Alex that has never really gone away. He doesn't want _Alex_ to go away. "You should. I love it; calms any chaos in my head. Makes everything real quiet."

"I could do with some quiet," Alex replies with a pinched smile.

Alex yawns then, wincing a little as he stretches. Michael would know guilt for it if he wasn't aching similarly. There are all kinds of memories they made together last night that Michael will replay for company tonight, and tomorrow, and every day after that too. He just wishes there wasn't a goodbye to say now, that last night could continue for a while. Maybe forever. He is a sentimental idiot like that.

"Yeah," is all he says though. "I'm guessing you could."

Alex nods in agreement, absently scratching Buffy's head when she comes to press into his side like she's claimed him already.

"Alex," Michael says then feeling reckless, and brave, and like he has to take his chances now or he'll regret it for the rest of his life. "How easy is it for you to get out of these contracts for the stuff you're doing next?"

Alex stares back at him for several seconds too long before answering. "I could postpone them for a couple of months. Easily. Maybe longer."

Michael's heart thuds. He chides it, and every part of him that is beginning to _hope_. "Would you want to? Take two months off?"

Alex's face begins to split into a smile; cautious as though he doesn't want to trust to hope yet either. "What would I do for two whole months if I wasn't working, Michael?"

Michael takes a breath, comes to stand in front of him, bravely resting his hands on Alex's waist. "Well. You could come with us. If you wanted. Even if you just came for a week, to see if you like it. If you want. And if you didn't like it, you could go back to your work, no problem. If you wanted." He is repeating himself, rambling, feeling more stupid by the second. Michael wants to take his words back and pretend they never happened; why would _Alex Manes_ want to go on the road, in an Airstream, with _him_?

Alex's smile is beautiful. He drapes his arms over Michael's shoulders, and when their chest press together, Michael is convinced it feels like home. "Yes," Alex says before he kisses him, sighing softly against his mouth. Michael makes himself a promise that he'll never let Alex out of his grip again.


End file.
